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kjhbsies · 3 months

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Strings of Love

Rockstar Ellie Williams x fem!reader

Synopsis: Ellie Williams is the country's biggest rock star. Who wouldn't be charmed by her beautiful face? And, oh, have you heard her voice? It's heavenly. On the other hand, Ellie does know you. How couldn't she? You're quite hard to forget. You supported them from the start until now. But one night changed it all as both of you got into an argument. Warnings: not proofread! beware of grammatical errors (english isn't my first language). Ellie is kind of an asshole in here lol.

PART II : PART III

Apocalyptic Serenade is a rock band consisting of five members. They all started as an unknown band playing in their house’s garage, until they became more popular as they started to have different gigs in some crappy bars. Both of them didn’t know how they reached the peak level of their popularity, as many people started admiring their works, especially their looks.

Ellie Williams is the lady-killer and a Casanova. As the lead singer of the band, she is the most popular among them – especially with the girls. She was well known for having different girls in bed every night, using them like a ragdoll and throwing them away like a toy in the morning. No one complained about it though, they claimed that tasting her is heaven, even if Ellie treats them like shit afterwards.

You are their avid fan. Ever since the start, you got hooked on the band’s performance when you first heard of them. You can still remember that they’re playing in a local bar in the small town where you lived. It was a hot Friday night of April, you and your friends wanted to unwind right after the finals and there happened to be a small band playing in your favorite bar.

When you first saw Ellie, she was sporting baggy jeans and a flannel. The sleeves were rolled up in her elbows, showing her tattooed arm. You figured out that she’s the lead singer when she stepped in the middle, her ringed fingers clutching the strings of her guitar while the other was strumming it.

You did not expect to become so immersed in a person that you feel like at that time, when you first heard her voice, you wanted to drop down on your knees and just start to worship her. She was… heavenly. Her voice is one of a kind that even angels couldn’t resist listening to.

Ellie noticed you standing in the middle of the almost empty bar. Everyone in here was beet drunk and the others aren’t even listening to them play. Ellie couldn’t care less about it at all. It was just like this all the time. At first, she couldn’t bear the idea that people weren’t even paying them attention – and that they’re just playing for nothing. Though, when they first received their small paycheck, Ellie accepted the reality.

However, you changed the perception of her life.

You were the first person to watch them with such intensity that even she couldn’t almost look you straight in the eye. Her heart beat tripled in excitement and it’s as if you just gave her the energy to sing and play passionately.

Finally, someone is listening.

And it was you.

That was the first time that you became their number one fan. You’re always attending their gigs, even if the location is miles away from your home. Listening to their music on spotify, watching their videos on youtube, and always stalking their instagram account. Your friends think that this is an addiction, and maybe it is.

However, their status and fame made Ellie Williams even more unreachable. Everyone loves her – I mean, who doesn’t? She’s a very talented woman, and aside from that, she radiates an energy that no one can resist. You know that idolizing someone who won’t even remember your face how many times you attend their gigs has its consequences but somehow, you grew accustomed to it. Watching and reading news articles about Ellie’s new potential lover doesn’t make your heart hurt like hell more than it did before. But a small part of you wishes to experience even being near her.

You always wondered how it would feel like having to hear her speak to your ears sweetly. Or how is she as a girlfriend? Would she play you her favorite songs? Would she write a whole ass album dedicated to you?

But every time those daydreams start forming in your thoughts, the reality will always seep in. That you’re just an ordinary girl and she’s a rockstar. Both of your worlds weren’t going to collide no matter how hard you try. And Ellie Williams is out of your reach.

On the contrary, Ellie feels the same way with you.

You’d think that after that night she first saw you, she’d immediately forget your face. I mean, how can she when she thinks that she just met the most angelic person in the world? Everything about you, your face, your body, the way you dress caught her eye.

The two of you met each other 3 years ago, and since then, you’re the only girl who’s been on her mind.

Ellie tried to push her thoughts away, wanting to forget you. I mean, she’s the rockstar of the year, every girl flocked at the sight of her, every one, I repeat, everyone wants to be with Ellie. And having a girl clinging on to her mind for years is really pathetic. Not to mention that she doesn’t really know your name because every time she sees you in one of their gigs or concerts, she couldn’t get the chance to ask for you. God knows she tried to step down the stage the moment they’re done performing because she knows that you’ll be gone so fast but still, Ellie couldn’t catch up. Ellie desperately begs for their manager to get your name and contact information when she sees you in the midst of the crowd but it always fails.

After several months, when Ellie’s popularity gained so much attention from everyone, every girl threw themselves at her. And Ellie made that an opportunity to forget you. You’re just a random fan girl, you should be easy to forget. You were nothing compared to her. And she’s not the one who should be begging for your attention. Ellie has everything and she could get whatever and whoever she wants.

But apparently, not you.

Because no matter how hard Ellie tries to think about the fact that you are just a mere fan girl and that you should be the one on your knees wanting for a little bit of her attention, Ellie still couldn’t resist finding you in the middle of the crowd. And you’re always there. So, every after their gig, Ellie would take someone in a fancy hotel, preferably the one who looks just like you. Because Ellie only wanted you.

She wouldn’t admit that, though.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

It was one of those days where you’d go to the Apocalyptic Serenade’s gig, and luckily, the bar is just near where your apartment is. And naturally, you’d go, just like you always do. But right now, you’re with your friends to have a nice night out after such a stressful day.

You are wearing a skimpy black dress with a leather jacket to give a small amount of warmth throughout the night. You’ve done your hair and makeup beautifully, wanting to look exquisite, even though Ellie won’t notice you for the nth time.

But who cares? You look so good and you’re having the best night of your life.

When the three of you arrived at the bar, it was pumped with people. The band is already playing at the stage and all of you managed to squeeze yourself in an empty seat, just where you can still have a perfect view of the band – especially Ellie Williams.

Ellie sensed that it was you who walked inside. How did she know that? Maybe after years of you going everywhere they performed, she already memorized your figure no matter how far away you are, or how dim the lights are in the club.

She tried so hard not to look your way but she can feel that you’re staring and watching her. And it made her nervous. What the fuck? It’s always like this and everytime she is frustrated because how can you make her fingers tremble when all you’ve just done is to stare at her? You don’t hold a huge amount of power over her. You just can’t. Because Ellie is a fucking star, and you should be the one worshipping her. Not the other way around.

But oh, boy, she does spare a glance at you, and thankfully, you’re not looking at her. Ellie almost stopped playing and singing when she saw you take off your leather jacket and it revealed the most beautiful woman in front of her.

It was the first time seeing you in this kind of clothing and to be honest, she’s mad as hell. She’s mad because she couldn't even touch a single strand of your hair. She’s mad because she can’t roam and feel your curves against her fingers. She’s mad because you are taking every willpower against her that it almost made her kneel in front of you.

Ellie’s neck reddened and she shut her eyes tightly. The grip on her guitar is hard as she tries to stop her dirty thoughts in her mind.

You couldn’t even get her name, how can you get her on your sheets? She thought to herself.

When Ellie opened her eyes, she saw a little commotion around your table. She saw you struggling to pull your arm away from a man’s grip on your hands. You looked uncomfortable, wanting to immediately push him as he kept on insisting on buying you a drink and when you politely declined, he viewed it as a little challenge. Your friends are nowhere to be found and you are stuck with him. Panic rose up through your throat and it made your body go cold.

“I’m gonna go to the restroom.” You said, but he immediately gripped your waist.

“I can assist you. You might trip.”

You gulped. “No, thank you. I’m not really drunk.”

And instead of letting you go, he immediately pulled you on his body. This made you want to cry as his grip gets harder and harder that you’re afraid that it might bruise. Unbeknownst to you, the music stopped and Ellie is walking towards you.

“The lady said no, dude.” She interrupted.

The crowd went silent, and suddenly, everyone’s camera pointed towards your direction. The panic you were feeling earlier was replaced by shock. Your heart beat tripled as you stared at the girl in front of you.

The rock star of the year.

Ellie fucking Williams.

What the fuck is happening…

She looked so beautiful as you can perfectly see her face up close. You thought that every single one of her features were exquisite. Her green eyes, nose, freckled cheeks, lips, the way she did her usual half up bun, the way she stands and even how she dresses. Everything about her screams power.

“Oh, you're the one who’s singing there earlier, right?” The man in front of you smirked. “You’re shit.” He gripped you harder. “Sorry, man, you need to find another girl to accompany you in bed. I don’t share.”

Ellie’s eyes darkened when he pulled your wrist. You winced, as you can feel his nails are digging into your skin.

Ellie punched the man so hard that he stumbled at the stools behind him. Everyone gasped in shock, including you. Your jaw dropped into the floor and your eyes widened at the scene in front of you. Her bandmates immediately got off the stage to go behind their lead singer.

But Ellie is still not done yet. She watched as the man tried to move his jaw with such anger in her eyes. Her tongue traced the inside of her cheeks before kneeling in front of him. Grabbing his collar, she started to throw punches at him. Her bandmates tried to stop her but she is far stronger than all of them combined. And aside from that, everyone is afraid of her.

When the man’s face was covered in blood, and he couldn’t even open his eyes, and as his consciousness was going away, Ellie stopped. She smiled triumphantly at the sight in front of her. Finally, the bouncers immediately pulled her away from the man who molested you. Ellie harshly pulled away from the bouncer’s grip before looking at your horrified face.

You two locked eyes and Ellie could feel the same beat of her heart when she first saw you.

“What-” You started, but the flashes of the camera stopped you from talking.

Ellie noticed it and thus she yelled, “Nobody touches her!” She then stormed away from you, and from everyone to go backstage.

“You okay?” Jordan, the lead guitarist placed her hand on your shoulder. You nodded, still couldn’t speak. “You should talk to Ellie, she's backstage. Just follow me, okay?”

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

“What the fuck, Ellie?!” Jesse, the band’s manager yelled at the girl who looked like she couldn’t care less.

Ellie straight up drank the bottle of whiskey that was on the table. Her face is slowly reddening, as alcohol starts running through her veins. Her mind swirled, and she couldn’t even make out what her manager was saying in front of her.

“My hand hurts.” She said, looking at her knuckles.

Jesse scoffed in disbelief. He ran his hands through his hair, messing it up. “You didn’t know how much trouble you’ve caused?! Aside from the fact that you almost murdered a man, many people witnessed how violent you are. And God, it’ll be all over the internet. Do you know how hard it is to clean up your mess?!”

Ellie snickered.

“Oh, you find that funny, huh? You are unbelievable!” He cursed for the nth time of the man. “What if the man wants to sue you, huh? What would you do?”

Ellie looked at him. “What would you do?”

“You fuck- Nevermind. I’ll go out and settle this and you should just sit there and shut the fuck up!” Jesse then stormed out backstage, closing the door with a loud bang.

Ellie took another long shot from the drink in her hand. She sat lazily at the couch while thinking of your face.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

A hundred times yes.

After a couple of minutes, one of her bandmates started to come in with serious faces.

“That’s fucked up.” Alex said, closing her arm in front of her chest. “But you did the right thing, dude.” She gave Ellie a tight-lipped smile. “Riley and Nat are talking to the crowd, calming them, just to distract everyone from what happened. I think it’s working. Everyone loves fan service.” Both of them snickered. “Jesse is talking to the manager. I think he’s settling everyone. Was he mad?”

“Very.” Ellie smiled before drinking again.

“You’re so fucked up.”

“Where’s Jordan?”

“Here.” She walked in, holding an ice bag in her hand. Ellie saw another familiar head behind Jordan, tailing her. She tilted her head to get a better view of her and she immediately straightened up.

Her brows knitted as she fully saw you.

“You two should talk to each other because this is just so… messy.” Jordan said, handing you the ice bag. “We’ll leave you.” They immediately then exited the room.

So now, you were left with Ellie. Sitting almighty in front of you.

“Ice bags?” You asked hesitatingly while lifting it. You bit your lips nervously as Ellie just stared blankly at you before standing up.

She went up in front of you, and the smell of her musky perfume filled your nose. She towered over you, her face looking dark before snatching the ice bag in your hand.

Ellie did not know why she’s mad. She wanted so bad to ask you if you’re okay, maybe look at the wrist that the man is gripping so hard, she wanted to ask if it bruised, she wanted to cure where it hurts, but the thump of her heart as she looks at you made her realize that you have a great hold at her.

Ellie cares greatly for the stranger in front of her.

But why?

That question started to haunt her.

Why why why why?

No, she doesn’t care that much. She can prove that to herself.

“Was it worth it?” Ellie said drunkenly.

“What?” You looked at her.

“Did you do that to get my attention?”

Your brows knitted so hard. You couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Are you implying that I wanted to get molested to get your attention?” Your voice started rising.

This is supposed to be easy. Ellie shrugged. “I mean, I always see you wherever we perform. Maybe you just got tired of being a fucking nobody at the crowd so you did that.” She snickered. “Damn, that’s so low.”

You slapped Ellie. Your eyes are bloodshot red as the tears start streaming down your face. You stared at her, feeling hurt. You breathed heavily and Ellie is still facing the direction where you slapped her. She couldn’t bear to look at your face. She just can’t.

“Fuck you.” You whispered before storming out.

Being mean to you is supposed to be easy. But why did Ellie feel like her heart’s going to explode from doing that?

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader angst #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #rockstar ellie williams

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wileys-russo · 2 months

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Hayley Raso + “you’re such an asshole I can’t believe I like you” + playing video games together ! 🧎‍♀️🫶🏼

world class II h.raso

"hay, baby you can't sleep yet." you wandered past the lounge and noticed the australian start to drift off, shaking her ankle as she groaned and opened her eyes.

"why?" hayley sighed deeply, rubbing her face and crossing her arms over her chest. "because the entire point of your jetlag plan is so you're back and fit to train a few days before your match babe." you smiled sympathetically.

"baby i could just take a tiny nap? then i'll still sleep tonight!" the brunette tried to bargain as you shook your head. "not part of the plan, and as both your girlfriend and a physio i have to ensure you follow that plan!" you laughed, gesturing for her to sit up.

you and hayley had met during her season at everton. you were only a trainee physio then, on work placement to finish your degree but you'd caught the australian's eye right away, the two of you getting along like a house on fire.

hayley was sat with a proud smile at your graduation, still only a friend to you then but not for a lack of trying, you only taking her attempts to flirt with you as banter and not yet clicking she wanted to be much more than just friends.

after you were fully qualified you quickly found yourself with a job offer in manchester for the devils, though still with 6 months left on your lease you stayed living where you had been and hayley amped up her efforts to woo you.

finally you clicked that she wasn't just being friendly on a drunken night out with some of her friends who were visiting from australia that she'd insisted you join, two of them quickly pulling you aside and asking when you and hayley had started dating it all suddenly made sense.

fast forward a couple of years and you'd both made the move to spain and were living in madrid, hayley still playing football and you working in a local sports clinic, working more with younger kids and teenagers who came up from the academies than directly with a team like you had been prior.

"you're no fun." hayley pouted with a frown as you shook your head. "maybe not, but neither is being medically benched because the team physios catch wind you're too tired to be cleared to play." you warned lightly, her eyes widening.

"you wouldn't!" hayley sat up properly now with a scoff. "i would love, if it meant you avoided any and all risk of injury." you promised softly, running a hand through her hair and shrugging.

"i wish you'd stayed working in england." hayley mumbled as her eyes began to once again feel heavy. "well aren't you absolutely charming." you rolled your eyes, turning to leave as a hand grabbed the back of your top.

"sorry! i'm just tired." hayley groaned, pulling you down onto the lounge and trapping you in between her arms and legs in a tight bear hug. "i know baby, but this plan will mean you aren't tired like this for very long." you twisted your neck to sweetly peck her lips.

"will you play fifa with me then? i was getting my ass kicked at tillies camp and i have to make sure i can hold my own before the next one. i didn't win a single game!" your girlfriend huffed, forever hotheaded and fiercely competitive much as it amused you to watch.

"love i've not got a clue how to play. in fact hay you banned me from playing because it was 'too hard to watch' remember?" you quirked an eyebrow as a guilty smile curled into her features.

"babe that was ancient history, i'm a new much more patient woman now." hayley grinned as you let out a loud sarcastic peal of laughter and tapped at her forearms to let you up.

"it wasn't even eight weeks ago raso." you hovered over her with a shake of your head, suddenly pulling back as she tried to sit up and capture your lips in hers. "oi! come here and give me a kiss." the australian frowned impatiently.

"no." you smiled, standing and heading toward the kitchen to make lunch for the pair of you, not at all surprised at the sound of footsteps hurrying after you.

"hayley!" you gasped as a body barrelled into you almost taking you down to the floor before your girlfriend grabbed your hand, spinning and dipping you, holding you just from falling as your heart raced.

"don't do that! its not funny." you smacked her chest with a thump as she laughed and you scowled, trying to move past her but before you could take another step her mouth was pressed against yours, feeling the winger smile into the kiss.

"you're a child sometimes." you pulled away and smacked her on the head with a magazine that was handy on the counter, only causing her to smile wider clearly proud of herself.

"that can wait! just one game? it'll help keep me awake." your girlfriend tugged you back from the kitchen with her best puppy dog eyes as you sighed. "fine. one game!"

"how the hell do you defend? i forget the controls!" you moaned in annoyance, only having had possession for about two seconds this entire half as your girlfriend knocked back goal after goal.

"hayley!" you huffed as she made her player do a backflip after another goal and cheered loudly in your ear, kissing your cheek apologetically from where you lay between her legs, your elbows resting on her knees and your back pressed to her front.

"you said this would be easy." you complained as the game stopped for half time. "no, i said i would put the match settings on easy." your girlfriend corrected as you pinched her thigh unimpressed with the answer.

"you're winning 8-0 surely you can spare five fucking minutes to show me the controls again?" you huffed before she could click to resume play, a lazy kiss pressed to your jaw as she dropped her remote and her hands settled over yours.

"when you attack you click this to pass, this to clear, this one to sprint and this one for a header or a short ball, and this to shoot." she explained slowly, pointing out the different buttons as you nodded.

"when you defend its the same sequence just different results. this one to chase, this one to tackle, this one to slide tackle and this one to clear." your girlfriend explained as again you nodded, doing your best to follow along.

"so does this mean you might let me keep the ball for more than thirty seconds and maybe even give me a pity goal?" you asked hopefully as the winger grabbed her own control and grinned.

"not a chance darlin." she stole a kiss and clicked resume before you could bite back with a remark. the second half you played a little better, but still you failed to score and conceded yet another five goals making it so hayley won with a whopping 13-0.

"that was humiliating." you scowled tossing the remote to the side onto the lounge and rolling your eyes. "thats life, win some you lose some. i feel a lot better about my results at camp now! thanks baby." her hands settled either side of your face and tilted your head back so she could press kisses across your skin.

"you're welcome." you rolled your eyes, gently tugging her hands away and sitting up, glancing to the screen only for a moment as your head snapped back to it and you frowned.

"world class!? you said you put it on beginner." you turned to glare at your girlfriend who shrugged, quickly turning off the tv and sitting up on her knees.

"did i? guess i must have clicked the wrong one babe, sorry." she grinned, pushing you to lay down as her face hovered over yours, not an ounce of remorse in her eyes.

"you're such an asshole, i can't believe i like you." "only like?" "barely tolerate." "what happened to love!" "maybe if you weren't a world class bad loser, you might get some."

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #hayley raso x reader #hayley raso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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llovelymoonn · 30 days

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on april

barbara kingsolver demon copperhead \\ sara teasdale a november night \\ fatima aamer bilal i mother it, the absence of her ii. i was hard to bear from the very start (via @ivynightshade) \\ anne carson the glass essay (via @petaltexturedskies) \\ raymond p. fischer an aged man remembers april \\ cyrus cassells \\ anton chekhov love \\ t.s eliot the waste land \\ michelle o'sullivan the flower and the frozen sea: "bespoke"

kofi

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ginnsbaker · 21 days

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (7/?)

Part summary: Six weeks later, Leigh decides to throw herself a birthday party.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.600+ | Warnings : None | Author's Note: Just a reminder that this doesn't strictly follow canon events. Borrowed some elements from the actual birthday episode, but it's going to go very differently for us :) Enjoy!

Six weeks later

“Hey! Happy birthday, sweetheart!” Leigh’s mom calls out from the kitchen as Leigh hurries down the stairs. She runs straight into Amy’s arms, a ball of energy, drawing bewildered looks from her mom and sister. Ever since Matt died, they are used to Leigh either being too quiet or too snarky. Today, of all days, they were expecting her to be something else much worse. But it seems they're mistaken as Leigh turns to Jules, yanks her in close, and kisses her hair.

Jules and Amy share a look. To say this as an interesting development would be an understatement. It's her birthday—her first one without Matt, who had been at the heart of her celebrations for the last decade. They hope Leigh finds some happiness, truly, but these past several months have taught them to temper their expectations.

They keep their silent exchange to themselves, watching as Leigh picks up a croissant and takes a heart bite out of it, her face lit up with the widest smile. “Happy birthday,” Jules grins, pushing a small envelope towards Leigh. “Got something for you.”

“Thank you!” Leigh exclaims. She eagerly opens the envelope to find a bunch of homemade coupons, each promising some sort of favor from Jules, good for the next year. They range from “Will listen to your rants for 30 minutes, no interruptions” to “I will restart the book club you tried to get me and mom to do and actually read the books this time.”

Laughing, Leigh flips through them. “These are brilliant, Jules. Might have to use one today,” she says, already thinking about which one she'll cash in first. Then, she pulls Jules in a bear hug, as if it’s the most exquisite present she’s ever gotten in her lifetime.

“You okay?” Leigh asks when she notices Amy staring at her.

Jules gives their mom a warning look as Amy struggles to come up with a response. “Nothing, I just… I didn’t think you’d be doing quite so well today. That’s all.”

“I didn’t either but we all make choices and I’m choosing to have a great birthday. So, let’s do this thing!” Leigh says in a manner that Jules feels too over the top. Amy starts laying out the plans for the evening and Leigh has a blank look by the time she finishes running them through it.

“I think I want a party,” Leigh announces. It’s met with astonishment, as if it’s the last thing her family’s expecting to hear.

“You do?” Amy.

“A party?” Jules.

Leigh isn’t perturbed by their reactions. “I do. I want a party,” she confirms. She delights at the dumb look on their faces as she reiterates, “Tonight. I want a big party.”

“You’re not having a big party.”

Danny calls her up the minute he gets her Facebook invite. He's partly furious about receiving the invite through Facebook, given that they’re “kind of seeing each other”, and partly incredulous because he couldn’t believe she’s making plans on her birthday without considering the fact that they are “kind of seeing each other”.

Leigh, phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she flips through a recipe book on her kitchen counter, rolls her eyes so hard she worries they might stick that way.

“Well, yes, Danny, that's exactly what I'm doing,” she fires back matter-of-factly.

Danny's frustration simmers on the other end of the line. He had already made plans, not bothering to consult Leigh because he assumed that their day would be spent together—privately, just the two of them.

“You didn’t think I’d have something planned?” he asks, more hurt than angry.

“Why would I think that?”

“Because we’re dating, Leigh,” he says, appalled that he needs to remind her. Leigh takes a second, biting her lip. Maybe it was a bit inconsiderate that she didn’t consider Danny when she impulsively decided she wanted a big celebration. But that flicker of guilt is short lived.

After all, she couldn’t remember the last time she’s actually excited for something, the last time she thought, I deserve to be happy.

“Yeah, well, I can still do what I want, Danny,” she retorts.

“Now you’re acting like a child,” he snaps.

Leigh feels a flash of anger, then something else—determination. “Maybe so. Come to the party or not, I don’t care. I'm going to have fun, Danny, with or without you.”

“Fine. Just don’t—”

Leigh doesn’t let him finish. With a press of a button, the call ends, his words cut off mid-sentence. Too often, she’s been criticized for not always following through with her declarations, but it's a different game when she's out to prove something.

Drew steps carefully around a minefield of clothes and makeup scattered on the floor to get to Leigh. She's curled up over her laptop, one leg propped on the chair, chin on her knee, in a posture that makes Drew wince. “For a fitness instructor, you're not exactly a poster child for back health,” he says, announcing himself to his best friend.

Leigh's head snaps up at Drew's voice, but instead of annoyance, a smirk quickly spreads across her face. “Good thing I'm not a fitness instructor anymore, then,” she says. Then she turns her attention back to her laptop as if he’s not there. Drew moves to sit on the edge of her bed, flops down on it like a ragdoll and stares at the cobwebs on the corners of the ceiling.

“I know what you’ve been doing, Leigh,” he says.

Leigh is unphased, keeps typing. Then, as if she’s just heard his remark, mutters a distracted, “What have I been doing?”

“Avoiding. You've been avoiding writing about anything that's even remotely related to love or grief,” Drew says.

This time, Leigh stops typing. She sighs, a long, drawn-out exhale that seems to carry the weight of the world. “I’m busy, Drew. This gig is eating up all my time.”

After leaving the Beautiful Beast, she took on a part-time job as a remote project manager. With Matt gone, she's left to deal with the debts they racked up together. She loved her studio job, really did, and wasn't fazed by the slim paycheck because it helped her mom out. Being surrounded by family has been a huge support (despite her occasional squabbles with Jules), but she knows she'll need to move out on her own again at some point. Ultimately, the pressing need for financial stability has pushed her to seek out better-paying opportunities.

Drew straightens up, leaning in with his elbows on his knees. “Bullshit.”

Leigh looks over her shoulder at him with mild irritation. “What do you want me to say, Drew?”

“You're meeting your weekly quota on other topics,” he points out. “Makes me wonder if bringing you back to the advice column was…premature.”

It sounds like a threat, but coming from him, she understands it as an early warning in case the senior editor begins to notice the issue. Leigh smiles thinly, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why does it even matter which topics I choose to engage with? First off, I'm collaborating with other writers now; it's not entirely my show anymore. Secondly, I've been doing a good job—”

“A great job, actually.”

Leigh tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. “So, what's the problem?”

“They're expecting you to lead on those topics because you've lived through them. They're looking for more authenticity in the pieces,” Drew explains.

Leigh looks out the window, seemingly lost in thought, then shakes her head slightly. “What, you want me to write about how I started picking fights left and right after Matt died? Do you want me to detail my attempts at fixing his depression, as if it were as manageable as setting a broken bone?”

“You don’t have to delve into the most personal details.”

“It can’t be authentic if it’s not personal,” Leigh sneers.

“Just think about it, okay?” Drew presses, a little desperately.

Leigh chews on the inside of her cheek, mulling it over. There's a whole part of her story she hasn't even touched on with him—the string of one-night stands with Danny, the way she's snapped at anyone who dared to disagree with her in the past few weeks. She's been on edge, not really liking the person she's been, and the thought of putting that version of herself out there for everyone to see is nothing short of humiliating.

As a writer, she knows what to say, the same way a psychologist would know what to do even if they don’t need to have all sorts of human experience to help someone in every situation. But she also questions her right to preach behavior to others when she's far from having it all figured out herself. Regardless of her indecision, she knows Drew’s not going to drop it until she at least tells him she’ll consider.

“Fine,” she says, with a nod. “I'll sift through the inbox and tackle the ones I feel up to.”

“There you go, that's my girl,” Drew says, visibly relaxing. But then, a moment later, he feels a stab of guilt for showing up mostly because of work. It's been a while since they've hung out, their usual brunch dates falling through one after the other, and their daily chats have shriveled up to a few messages a week, with mostly just memes from Leigh that Drew hardly ever acknowledges. Eventually, Leigh just stopped sending them.

Drew fidgets, avoiding eye contact for a second before it dawns on him—he hasn't just been busy; he's been dodging Leigh on purpose ever since he popped the question to his partner. He was worried Leigh wouldn’t take the news well, considering the things she’s been going through. But if he’s being brutally honest with himself, a part of him just didn't want her grief to dampen his excitement. He was worried her sadness might dampen his spirits, and in a bid to preserve his own happiness, he’d left her out in the cold. He hadn't stopped to think that maybe he owed Leigh more than just her column.

“So, uh, how’s it going?” Drew asks cautiously.

“It’s going,” Leigh offers. Heartfelt talks aren't their thing, so Leigh decides to brush it off fast. “By the way, I'm throwing a birthday party for myself.” It comes out a bit more cheerfully than she feels.

“A party? That's great, Leigh!” Drew exclaims. “And hey, if you need help setting up or anything, just let me know.”

“Yeah,” she forces a smile, not as enthusiastic as she was about the idea at breakfast. “It's tonight, though. You're coming, right? And bring anyone fun you know.”

“Wow, OK,” Drew nods before his face morphs into a grin, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So, is this where you're planning to hard launch your new relationship? At your party?”

Leigh’s eyes sharpen into slits. “You know about Danny?”

“Jules told me,” he says.

Rolling her eyes, Leigh retorts, “Let me guess, she told you so you'd join the haters club?”

“Nah,” Drew shrugs, his smile bright and sunny. “Danny's okay, I guess. If you're happy, I'm happy.”

She hasn’t been not happy lately. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but it sure beats being on her own. So maybe she is—or at least, on her way.

“Thanks, Drew,” she murmurs thoughtfully.

Drew makes himself comfy, chin in hand, looking like he's all set for one of their marathon catch-ups. "So, how did you and Danny even start? Tell me everything."

Leigh's trunk is a one-can band, banging and clanging with every turn. Her groceries create a beat, something to fill in the lack of sound in her car. It’s how she drives these days—in utter silence. Before, she wouldn't even think of heading out without the perfect playlist, which often took her an extra five to fifteen minutes after settling into the driver's seat. But these days, as soon as the key is in the ignition, she twists it and takes off, not even waiting for the car to warm up.

Organizing a party by herself (with Jules' indispensable assistance, of course) and extending invites to her entire Facebook friends list has turned into quite the ruse. She's seasoned enough to temper her expectations—knowing well that not everyone who RSVP'd “yes” will show, and that some who didn't bother to RSVP might just surprise her by showing up. So, she's stocked up on as much food as her sedan can hold.

While Leigh's mind wanders to what snacks to whip up and what sauces to pair them with, she accidentally ends up on a lane that forces a left turn instead of going straight. This little misstep means she's got to take the scenic route home, which, by pure coincidence, takes her right past your clinic's street.

Her heartbeat quickens, though it shouldn't. There's no reason for it. She hasn't seen you in a month, not since the night she made a bold declaration on her bedroom door.

Leigh never planned on actually liking you as a person. Initially, her motive was purely to get a closer look, to dissect what it was about you that caught Matt's eye, what you possessed that she lacked. However, the answer to that mystery didn't remain elusive for long after spending a little time with you. You had this kindness about you, soft and easy, something Leigh’s always found just out of her reach. She prides herself on being decent enough but next to you, she feels a bit more like sandpaper to your silk.

Matt was like that too—gentle, easygoing. Leigh is well aware of her own rough edges, her sharp corners that don't quite align with Matt's smoother ones—and, by extension, yours. You and Matt had more in common than just interests; you both saw and reacted to the world in similar ways. Finding out that you and Matt were alike in important ways, in ways she wasn't, is something she's still learning to cope with.

As she nears your clinic, her eyes instinctively search it out, a habit she can't seem to break.

This time, her timing is impeccable; just as she glides by, you step outside with a puppy in your arms, licking your face all over. You catch sight of her car from a distance, and you couldn’t stop the surprise that flashes across your face. As she drives past, you give her a little wave, puppy still in tow. Leigh cracks a small smile, then throws on her aviators, maybe trying to hide a bit more than her eyes. She sneaks one last look in the rearview, catching you watching her car disappear down the street before you head back into the clinic.

As soon as she gets home and is safely out of the car, she opens her messages.

The last text you sent her says, “I'm sorry. I hope we can still be friends,” sent three days after the encounter in her bedroom. She didn't respond to it, and you didn't push any further or impose yourself on her.

She wishes she had at least reacted with a heart or sent a smiley face to your message. Maybe then, inviting you to her party tonight wouldn’t feel so awkward. Nevertheless, she manages to type out a quick invite and extends to you the courtesy of bringing a plus one, someone you believe would be good company.

Your response arrives within five seconds of her hitting send.

“Thank you, I'll be sure to drop by :)” - Y/N

Satisfied, Leigh sets her phone aside. Now, she can focus on making those Deviled eggs.

The dress she's pulled from Jules's closet is a bold choice: deep black with a plunging neckline and a hem that flirts with daring. It's sexy, but not quite Leigh's usual style—and that's exactly why she loves it. It clings to her in all the right places, promising a confidence that Leigh isn't entirely sure she feels. Her hair, which is normally pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail, hangs loose and wavy. She tops off her outfit with a slick of red lipstick and layers of dark eyeliner.

With about an hour to spare before her guests are due to arrive, Leigh decides it's the perfect time to follow through on a promise she made to Drew. She logs into the shared inbox of the advice column she co-manages with two other writers at Basically News. Leigh scrolls through the submissions, Drew’s words playing on repeat in her head. He had a point. Maybe people don't always need the right answers—answers she hardly uses herself. Perhaps what they really need is someone to affirm what they're already feeling, to say it's okay to follow their gut, to be themselves.

She reads an interesting entry from one EspressoEyes:

“Do you think it's too much for me to give a puppy to this woman I like? I'm not even sure she likes me back (or like me in general 😣), but it's her birthday, and I feel like a puppy could be exactly what she needs at this moment.”

Leigh reads the message, a smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Personally, she muses, she'd welcome a puppy from just about anyone. But that's just her, especially with the rollercoaster of a year she's had—she's at a point where the gesture, no matter who it comes from, would be a welcome slice of joy.

Thinking it over, she starts replying, “A puppy is a big gesture—it can be an overwhelming gift for some. It might even be seen as too forward, especially in certain relationships.Yet, a gift is a gift. Sometimes, you need to just go for it, without apologies. If her feelings don't align, she'll let you know. She has to, because giving a puppy is essentially a love declaration, in case you hadn't realized. And who knows? She might feel the same about you. Just make sure she's actually up for the responsibility of a pet. They're for life, not just for birthdays.”

She signs off with her pen name—Gigi Herrel—a clever anagram of her name as it would have been had she taken Matt's last name in marriage: Leigh Greer. Though it never quite felt like her own. She only used it when she came back to Basically News in obeisance to his passing. Drew has granted her the autonomy to publish her responses without his oversight (“Just make sure your grammar is perfect,” he said), so Leigh doesn’t think twice before publishing her response.

Leigh moves on to browse through other submissions, this time, on those related to marriage and loss—the very subjects she promised Drew she would tackle. She’s been in those shoes, still feels like she's wearing them. With a deep breath, she clicks on one and dives right into it. Her first attempt at a response feels inadequate, prompting her to hit delete and start anew. This process repeats itself, one draft after another, until she has five versions sitting in front of her, none of which feel right. With a huff, she deletes them all.

Just then the doorbell rings, pulling her out of her advice-column vortex. Leigh glances around, momentarily disoriented. It takes her a moment to recall that there's a party happening downstairs, and she's meant to be enjoying herself.

She’s halfway down the stairs when Jules's eyes land on her. Leigh freezes, as if she’s been caught red-handed. “I…couldn’t find the coupon for borrowing your clothes.”

Jules just smirks and arches an eyebrow, taking in Leigh in her dress. “Oh please, as if I ever keep track. Besides, that was just gathering dust after my ‘slutty Halloween phase’ as you so lovingly called it.”

“Cool! Perfect!” Leigh says, ignoring the backhanded comment. Her focus immediately turns to the front door as another guest arrives. “Hey, Dad!” she calls out.

Leigh’s dad walks in with his partner, and she greets them with a warmth that's been rare these days. He hands her a large, beautifully wrapped box. Leigh grasps the gift with both hands, shaking it gently, much like a child on Christmas morning. She’s thanking them when an old friend from high school she hasn’t seen in forever walks through the door, a bottle of wine in hand. Her mom swoops in like a hawk, reminding everyone it's a dry party in support of Jules's sobriety, and the wine is swiftly traded for a mocktail.

For the next hour, the house fills up. Leigh finds herself out back, tending to snacks, when a small line of people forms to chat with her. They each ask if she’s doing okay, their condolences tucked neatly between cheerful birthday wishes. Leigh’s smiling, but it's so fake even she is not buying it, mentally blacklisting half of these people for next time.

Just when the parade of condolence callers is beginning to fray her patience, one of her actual favorite humans finally shows up, saving her mood from souring completely. Drew looks striking in a simple black polo shirt, so much so that it reminds Leigh of the time Matt got all jealous over him, until Leigh let him in on the secret that he plays for the other team.

He passes her a little envelope, his birthday offering—a gift card. Leigh’s barely expressed her thanks over the simple present when he jumps right into feedback on her latest advice column.

“Read your puppy counsel on my way here. It felt a bit... casual, don’t you think?”

Leigh smirks up at him, arms crossed, the gift card crinkling between her forearms. “Just say it's terrible advice if that's what you mean.”

Drew purses his lips before relenting. “Fine. It was terrible advice.”

“Expect more of that if I tackle the stuff I’ve been avoiding. Still think it’s a good idea?” Leigh says, nodding like it’s exactly what she wants to hear. Drew lets out a sigh, swiftly steering the conversation away before their playful banter escalates into a disagreement. With Leigh, he knows all too well that the edge of an argument is always closer than it seems.

“Anyway, happy birthday, again,” he says, trying to lighten the mood again. “Ryan's tied up with work stuff, totally wiped, but he did wish you a happy birthday.”

Leigh’s face hardens slightly at the mention of Ryan. She’s been harboring this nagging thought that Ryan dislikes her, a suspicion fueled by a criticism she once shared with Drew in confidence, suspecting Drew might have passed it along. Drew, seeing her expression change, doesn’t rush to correct her assumption.

“He hates me,” Leigh concludes before Drew can even get a word out.

“He doesn’t—”

“What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have kept it between us?” she demands, feeling betrayed.

“Because Ryan’s my person. I tell him everything. That’s how being in a marriage works,” he says, but the moment he sees Leigh's face fall, he wishes he could retract those words.

Leigh bristles, her voice rising, “I know how being married works!”

She's livid, because that should go without saying. How dare he imply that she no longer knows, now that she's only half of a whole—her best friend, of all people.

Drew exhales coolly, as if trying to douse the proverbial fire between them. “Why does it seem like we're always either fighting or about to fight?” he wonders aloud.

Leigh��s anger softens into something more reflective, and she sighs, the fight draining out of her. “I don’t mean to...” She trails off, searching for the right words. “It’s like I’m always ready for a battle. I don’t know why. It’s like I’m expecting it, waiting for it, at the end of every day.”

Drew lets the moment breathe, waiting for both of them to deflate completely before tacitly reaching out behind Leigh for a snack. “These are great, by the way,” he says between bites, acting like they hadn’t just been at each other's throats.

Leigh tries to match Drew’s candidness, but inside, she’s reeling. It bothers her, this pattern they’ve fallen into—her temper flaring up, followed by a quick brush-off, as if these outbursts are merely now a part of who she is. She hates that she’s become predictable in her volatility, that her explosions are met with a shrug and a wait-out-the-clock mentality from those around her. She’s tired of it, tired of being seen as a ticking time bomb, her anger and hurt dismissed as just Leigh being Leigh, waiting for the reset button to be hit so the countdown can start all over again.

But it's her birthday, and she's brought these people together on a Tuesday night for fun. She didn't gather everyone just to tell them, once and for all, that they need to stop acting as if her husband just died.

So, she goes with the flow, laughing when it's her cue, even though deep down, she feels more alone in the crowd than ever.

With the absence of alcohol, the party winds down by 11 PM. Guests begin trickling out as early as 10, and by the time Leigh is bidding farewell to the last attendee, she's already donned an apron, ready to take on the mountain of dishes left behind.

Which is to say, showing up right now pretty much means you've missed the whole party.

Pulling up in front of Leigh's house, the night already deep into its quiet hours, you’re running on the adrenaline of the day's emergencies. Two cases back-to-back at the clinic, one of them diving straight into surgery, left you no choice but to push everything else to the side. Suzie, who was meant to join you as your plus one, ends up stuck back at work, tending to a recovering St. Bernard, so it's just you and the sleeping puppy on your lap now. For her sacrifice, you promise to take her out to a nice lunch one of these days.

The puppy starts wagging its tail in its sleep, and you look down with a smile at the little dreamer. The decision to give Leigh the puppy wasn't made lightly. You've been turning the idea in your mind for a while now. Initially, you didn't even realize her birthday was coming up, and the invitation to her party caught you off guard, especially considering the somewhat unresolved way things were left between you two weeks ago. The timing of her birthday, your rocky history, it all made you second-guess whether a puppy was a good idea. In search of a voice outside your own head, you turned to a favorite advice column you often read in your spare time. To your surprise, your submission was picked up by one of the columnists, and the response you got wasn't just advice; it was the push you needed. You were lucky to be able to catch their answer, just before you got home to change for Leigh’s birthday party.

Trying to calm the butterflies in your stomach, you give yourself a quick once-over in the rearview mirror and apply a fresh swipe of nude-colored lipstick. With one last look, you carefully step out of the car, the sleeping puppy nestled securely in your arms. The moment you move, it stirs, burrowing deeper into your armpit, seeking refuge from the light of the street lamps.

Everything's too quiet as you walk up to Leigh's house. You anticipated some noise, music or chatter—anything to indicate the party was in full swing. But there are none. Could you have missed the party? Or worse, did Leigh get the date wrong on her invite? Hesitantly, you press the doorbell, instantly regretting it, thinking you might be waking up the whole house.

Just as you're about to bail, the door swings open and it's Jules.

“Y/N!” Jules nearly trips over herself getting to you, eyes wide when she spots the furball you’re holding.

“Hi Jules,” you mutter sheepishly.

“Is that a…” she squeaks out, already reaching for a cuddle before you've even nodded. Jules is all over the puppy, who seems just as happy to be the center of attention. After a while, she looks up, a bit more composed but still glowing.

“I didn’t know Leigh invited you. Too bad, you just missed the party. But you should definitely come in and say hi to Leigh,” she says. You want nothing more than to see Leigh again, even if only for a brief moment, just to accomplish what you came here for and perhaps wish her a happy birthday. But with the party over and you potentially being the only guest, it feels like walking into a situation you don’t think you’re prepared enough for.

Then, as the puppy licks Jules' face off, she pauses and looks at you funny. It clicks for her—no collar, no leash, just you and this puppy who appear no more than two months old.

“Oh my gosh, is this for Leigh?” Jules gasps.

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I-If she wants him.”

Jules looks at you, then at the puppy, her smile blinding. “Well, I want him. But if she doesn’t, I’ll be more than happy to be his mommy.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm. Still feeling skittish, you ask, “Do you think it’s an appropriate gift for Leigh?”

“You're a vet. It's kind of on-brand for you,” Jules quips.

You laugh again. “Really?” you ask, kind of hoping for a more solid reassurance.

Jules considers it for a second, before saying, “I can at least assure you it’s not unwanted.”

Good enough, you think. Jules hands you back the puppy and then says, “She’s in the kitchen. Look, she’s not exactly in a good mood, but I think you should go for it anyway.”

That’s two people egging you to go ahead with your surprise. It must be a sign from the universe. You make up your mind for the final time. “Thanks, Jules,” you say.

“Anytime.”

You tread lightly, making sure your footsteps don’t give you away as you approach the kitchen. Leigh is at the sink, doing the dishes, clad in a black dress that skims her thighs, her feet bare against the cool kitchen tiles. Her shoulders are slumped, her movements laconic, as if her body is there, but her mind is miles elsewhere. The expanse of skin revealed by her hair tied up in a high ponytail captivates you, holding you back from announcing your presence. You allow yourself a moment to take her in, thinking this might be the only chance you get to really look at her like this.

You’re about to say “Hi”, when Leigh whirls around, startling you both. Leigh, not expecting anyone to be there, loses her grip on the plate she's holding, and it smashes loudly against the floor.

“Jesus!” Leigh’s scream summons Jules and her mom into the kitchen. Meanwhile, you are trying to do damage control—holding the puppy with one hand and attempting to gather the ceramic shards with the other as Leigh continues to stare at you in shock.

Amy, wrapped in her robe, looks from the mess on the floor to you and then to Leigh. “What’s going on here?”

Jules is unfazed, simply watches the entire scene from a corner of the room, smirking.

Your cheeks flush with shame, and you find yourself grateful to be still seated on the floor, your back turned away from Leigh's family.

“I’m so—” you start, but Leigh cuts you off.

“Okay, everyone just...calm down," Leigh says. She kneels down beside you, her hands joining yours in cleaning up the broken pieces.

“I'm heading to bed,” Jules says and then winks at you. “Happy to see you, Y/N!”

Amy wraps her robe more snugly around herself, then with a small, puzzled shake of her head, says, “Well, good night everyone. And happy birthday again, sweetheart,” before she walks down the hall and out of sight. Leigh gets to her feet, a slight nod of appreciation directed your way as she holds open a trash bag for you to deposit the ceramic shards. That’s when the puppy finally catches her attention.

“And who's this little guy?” she asks, a smile starting to play at the corners of her mouth.

You clear your throat. “Uh, yeah. He’s yours if you want him. Don’t worry about refusing, there’s someone lined up to take him in case you’re not—”

But Leigh’s already gently taking the puppy from your arms, instantly cradling and bouncing him as though he’s a tiny human baby. It’s a sight both funny and utterly endearing, and you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, feeling your heart grow a size or two.

“Who wouldn't want him? He's perfect,” Leigh says, her eyes not leaving him as he nestles comfortably in her arms. Hearing those words, you feel a wave of relief wash over you. She doesn't find it odd; she's already falling for him.

“Happy birthday,” you tell her, and when she looks at you, her smile is so bright it could light up the whole night. Right there is everything you hoped for. All you really wanted was to see her happy.

“Thank you so much,” she murmurs, clutching the puppy tighter to her chest. Then, cocking her head to the side, she inquires, “What's his name?”

The grin on your lips can’t be helped, and you’re hoping she wouldn’t see just how much she’s having an effect on you. “I haven’t named him yet. He was always meant to be yours, Leigh,” you say.

Her smile just gets bigger as she gazes down at the little furball in her arms, and you think this is exactly how things were supposed to go down. It’s one of those rare moments where reality lines up perfectly with expectation.

“I think I’ll call him Logan.”

You and Leigh retire to the living room after she kindly offers to make you decaf. As you settle onto opposite ends of the couch, tucking your feet under you, Logan instinctively takes shelter in Leigh's lap, as if he already knows he belongs there.

“So…Why Logan?” you ask, after making a mental note of how Leigh makes her coffee: one cream, two sugars.

“Well,” Leigh says, her fingers gently stroking Logan’s deep chocolate fur, “he just looks like a little wolverine, doesn’t he? With that color and those defiant little eyes.”

The dots connect in a funny, unexpected sort of way. Leigh and comic books don't seem like the most likely pair.

“Ah, like the X-Men character. I didn’t know you were a comic book fan,” you say.

She laughs, a sound that’s light and free of any shadows. “Oh, I wasn’t. Not really. It was all Matt. He had this massive collection, and he was pretty obsessed. I guess some of it rubbed off on me after all.” The mention of Matt doesn’t bring clouds into her eyes like you expected. She talks about him like she’s looking at something distant but dear.

“Thought you were bailing on me tonight,” Leigh , almost casual but there’s this undercurrent, like she’s really saying she’s glad you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I got stuck at the clinic longer than expected.” Leaving her waiting, especially today, was never part of the plan. Your work as a vet often means unpredictable hours, but you hadn't expected it to stretch so far into the evening.

“It’s okay, you didn’t miss much.”

Her casual dismissal makes you wonder, but not wanting to pry too much, you shift slightly, asking, “So, how did it go? Did you enjoy yourself at least?”

Leigh simply smiles and shrugs, an action that speaks volumes without giving much away. “This,” she nods down at Logan, “getting him from you, feels more like my birthday than anything else today.”

The conversation that follows is easy, skipping over the day-to-day stuff—nothing deep, but you're both there—really there—and it's nice. It feels like a fresh start, and you're deeply thankful for the second chance she's offering you. You promise yourself you won't mess it up this time.

But just as you’re both delving into more personal topics, someone rings the doorbell. Logan perks up, his head tilted, ears alert. Leigh gives you a look, as if saying she's not expecting anyone else to show up this late at night. She puts the puppy down on the floor and when she opens the door, it’s Danny, looking sorry for himself. He’s holding a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. It seems as though he has the whole evening planned out in his head—apologize, crack open the wine, and maybe be invited to Leigh’s bedroom afterwards.

Danny’s eyes find you and his face falls a bit. He wasn’t expecting company, certainly not you. “Leigh, can we talk?” he asks, then looks pointedly at you. “Alone?”

Leigh looks torn for a moment, glancing your way as if she's not ready to let you out of her sight. She insists it'll just be a minute, but you can read the room. This is something they need to sort out without you playing third wheel.

“It’s all good, I'll head out,” you tell her though you're staring Danny down, making sure he knows it’s not because of him that you’re leaving. Leigh either misses the whole glare-off or decides to stay out of it. Logan tries to follow you as you make for the door. It’s hard leaving him behind, but you know he’ll be happy to have found his forever home. You kneel down, giving Logan a soft kiss on the head, promising him you’ll be back soon. And then you turn to Leigh, a question at the tip of your tongue but she already knows what you’re going to ask.

“You can see Logan anytime,” she says with a faint smile. “I might need your help with him sooner than you think.”

The moment you close the door behind you, Leigh's jaw sets in a firm line, bracing herself to confront Danny. Her main priority is to get Logan settled, so she decides that forgiving Danny might be the quickest way to send him on his way. But Danny’s focus now isn’t on apologies or making it up to her. He’s fixated on Logan, his brows knitting together in confusion and, curiously, a bit of annoyance.

“Who gave you that?” he asks Leigh as if he’s just referring to an inanimate object lying around the house. He sounds like he's almost accusing her of something, and Leigh's baffled.

“A friend gave him to me,” she says, nodding towards the door you've just walked out of. Danny's face twists up in an instant, like a storm cloud bursting. “A friend,” he repeats, and the way he says it, it’s clear he’s not just asking. He’s fuming with jealousy, and Leigh can’t wrap her head around why.

A gift is just a gift, right? Why would…

Oh.

Earlier, while she was reviewing submissions for the advice column, someone asked if giving a puppy as a birthday gift to someone they're interested in would be a good idea. She remembers how she happily encouraged them, telling them to go for it.

At this realization, Danny, the puppy, and everything else slide to the back burner. The only thing occupying her mind now is the deep, dark brown hue of your eyes, like rich espresso.

EspressoEyes. That's how the person behind the submission signed off. It's like a lightbulb moment, but softer—like waking up slow.

It's you.

Oh.

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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darkestspring · 1 year

Note

Prompt for when you need it: reader is rhaenyra's only daughter and jacaerys' twin and in order to make things easier for her mother and her pregnancy she takes charge of caring and entertaining her younger siblings while they are staying at Kings Landing.

Cue Aemond having a hard time keeping it cool when seeing her playing and doting on little white-haired children and his mind going wild at the idea of her playing with their future babies. Gods help him if he doesn't end up doing something drastic by the end of the damn week

You take it from there, and feel free to disregard it if it's too silly. I just couldn't get the idea out of my head, and now I'm making it a WE problem

Thanks for listening to me anyways! ❤️

IT IS A WE PROBLEM BUT ITS ONE THAT I LIKE <3333

You knew this pregnancy was taking it's toll on your mother, even with your stepfather's help. With your twin brother, jace, taking care of looking after Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, you had taken the role of looking after your younger brothers, Aegon III, and Viserys II.

You were carrying Aegon in your arms as Viserys held your hand gently as you guided him down the hall.

Aemond was watching from a short distance and he could feel his cock throb at the sight. He couldn't help but imagine that it was your children with him and not your younger siblings.

It was not a very well hidden secret that he had craved you since you were both younger. His pretty bastard, his alone.

His pretty brown haired wife-to-be.

A shiver went down his spine at the thought of you bearing his children, he'd give you so many white haired babies, true targaryens.

He cornered you later, after the dinner in which he insulted your brothers, yet again.

"What is it that you want, Aemond?" You had hissed at him, eyes narrowed at him. "There is nothing for you here."

"You're wrong about that." He purred at you, your anger only made his lust grow. "You're here. What better way to get even. Will you not settle your brother's debts by giving yourself to me?"

That made you stop, staring at him in confusion. You thought he hated you, loathed you the same as your brothers, you were a bastard, the same as them.

"What?"

"Are you already dumb before i've even inserted my cock into you?" He retorted, walking closer as you moved back until your back hit the wall. "I'm going to settle my debt with your body, and once I do, I will marry you in our tradition and give you so many babies to occupy your time."

The logic was a little twisted but you understood it. Despite not having the features, there was no denying that you were of valyrian descent. You had bonded with the most dangerous dragon, the cannibal.

You stared at him impassively. "And if I refuse? Will you take me by force, dear prince?"

Aemond looked at you through his lone purple eye a minute longer before laughing. "No, you'll beg me for it. I have always seen it. Your kindness towards me, the lust in your eyes as you gaze towards me, even now."

His hand drifted down to touch your clit gently under your nightgown adn your hips jolted forwards at the touch.

"Tell me to stop. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this, and I will stop, sweet girl." Aemond spoke neutrally as he watched your reactions.

You couldn't say that. a part of you hated him but a larger part loved him, wanted him.

"That's what I thought." Aemond chuckled before pulling your nightgown up further.

"Wait," you spoke softly, hands on his chest. "Not here. On the bed." You look over towards the neat bed. "I want... our first time to be on a bed, not against the wall." You spoke almost bashfully and his eye softened before nodding and pulling away.

You stepped out from your spot before grabbing his hand and leading him towards the bed. "I want you..." You murmured softly before starting to unbuckle his shirt. "I want this." You assured him in a soft tone.

"Sweet girl." Aemond groaned before starting to pull your nightgown up and over your head as you stood bare before him.

Aemond shrugged his shirt off as you finished and started focusing on his pants. Your hand pressed against his bulge and he hissed, grabbing your wrist. "Don't test my patience, niece."

You smiled at that before going back to pulling his pants down. "But I enjoy it so, seeing you strain to control yourself."

Aemond growled down at you, sounding all too much like the dragon he was before he pushed you onto the bed and crawling on top of you, his bare cock pressing against your thigh. "Brat." He commented before slapping your thigh, making you squirm.

"Hurry up." You whined, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him forwards and hissing as his cock kissed the entrance of your cunt.

Aemond was torn between wanting to go slow and wanting to absolutely ruin you.

"No need to be nice." Your sly smile told him a different story. "I open myself at the thought of you many nights." You taunted him, smiling as you saw his self control fade as he sunk into you.

A loud gasp left you as his hips pressed against yours. He smelled so familiar, like smoke and ink. "Oh, aemond."

"Don't quit on me now, darling. We're just getting started." His first thrust took the air out of you as your heels dig into his ass and pressed him deeper inside of you. "Shit, you really test me, you fucking brat."

The smile that earned him was entirely too smug and his response was to start thrusting earnestly inside you as your bedframe started to hit the wall. "I want you to scream for me."

"Oh gods!" You sobbed out as you held onto him. You could feel him so deep inside you, his cock making its home inside you.

"There's no gods here, just me." Aemond groaned out as you clenched around him yet again. "So don't call for the gods, call for me."

#yandere house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #yandere aemond targaryen x reader #hotd smut

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outofgloom · 11 days

Text

POWER (II)

“Kapura...”

He was lying down. He had not been lying down a moment ago. He had been standing in a cold, clammy chamber crowded with much larger beings. He had been trying to—

“Kapura!!"

He sat up and blinked. Blinked again. A black Pakari was bending over him, too close. The eyes were very...worried, yes. That was ‘worry’, wasn’t it?

“Are you okay?” the voice said again. “I was worried...”

Worried. He’d got it right.

“…that I was on my own.” The Pakari was Hafu, of course. The Po-Matoran pulled him up to a standing position.

“What happened?” Kapura said, checking his body for damage.

“I’m not sure, but it seems like we've both had a hard landing.”

Kapura registered his surroundings. They were at the bottom of a shallow, rocky ravine. Behind them there was a wall of earth, but ahead the slope was gentler. Probably climbable.

“Where are we, and where are we not?”

“Oh, don’t start with that again,” Hafu said flatly.

“The chamber...I don’t remember.”

“There was a sound—an explosion I think. It might have been in another part of the tower. I saw the Great Smith react. He did something to the air and space—twisted it like before. Then I woke up with sand in my mask.”

Kapura shifted his feet.

“There is a great deal of sand.”

Hafu sighed. “Let’s get our bearings. Up there should be better.” He pointed up the rocky slope.

It was a short hike, although the incline was treacherous with loose gravel. As they emerged, they could see that the sun had passed the top of the sky.

A single sun. No stars.

“Are we back on...Mata Nui?” Hafu asked, more to himself than to Kapura. “The Turaga said it was destroyed.”

“The air is warm,” Kapura said, “like Po-Wahi.”

Ahead, there was an expanse of wind-carved canyons and stone shapes, spreading to the horizon, where they blurred into mirage.

“It does feel like home, I guess.”

“I wonder if Artakha sent us here to keep us safe. You said you heard a noise?”

“That’s right. Just before the Smith did…whatever he did. Something happened in that tower...”

Hafu squinted into the distance, looking for signs of life. A faint breeze stirred the air, but nothing else.

“Whatever it was,” Hafu continued, “I’m sure it’d be no problem for the Smith, and the others. They're all powerful beings, and that tower was impregnable. I examined the stonework myself. Stellar quality, as one might expect from the Great Beings, but—”

Hafu stopped. Kapura’s hand had settled on his shoulder, nudging him to turn. The Ta-Matoran was looking off to the left, following the lip of the ravine. Hafu saw that the shallow crevasse extended about half a kio into the distance before it ended abruptly against a low ridge of stone. That ridge piled into another, and another beyond that.

There was a black scar across the series of ridges, as if something had scorched the stone. Strewn here and there were gigantic blocks of dark granite—even at this distance, they could be seen. And even closer, Hafu realized, partly embedded in the earth, was another shape: A rampart and crumbling wall, still partly intact.

Pieces of the Great Beings' tower, blasted to fragments.

“By Mata Nui...” Hafu murmured. “Whatever the Great Smith did...it must have brought part of the tower with us. But such destruction—Wait!”

Kapura was already marching toward the ruins determinedly. The Ta-Matoran was always faster than he appeared. Hafu jogged after him, trying to catch up, but strangely found that he could not. He was not used to this kind of exercise, he supposed.

By the time Hafu reached the piece of the tower they had seen, Kapura was sitting atop a pile of gigantic stones. The Ta-Matoran waved as Hafu paused to catch his breath.

“Have you…have you found anything?” Hafu called out.

“No bodies,” Kapura replied.

“Well, that’s good news.”

“There is something.”

“Ah, what is it?”

“Under the stones here,” Kapura replied. “I can’t move them.” The Ta-Matoran slid carefully to the ground as Hafu approached, and pointed to a gap between the slabs he had been sitting on. Something could be seen glittering in the dark.

Hafu looked morosely up at the heavy blocks.

“If I had my tools, this would be a lot easier…”

The two Matoran worked together to shift the carved stones. They were wedged tight, but with the right application of force, first one and then the other toppled away. A cloud of dust rose and Hafu coughed as he scrambled over the remaining stones to see the prize, hoping it had not been crushed. Kapura was already there, of course.

It was a hammer. Gigantic, covered in strange runes. It still glowed faintly. It was the Hammer of Artakha.

Neither Matoran spoke. Hafu looked around, almost expecting the Great Smith to appear and scold them, but nothing happened.

“Should we...?” Hafu looked at Kapura, but the Ta-Matoran shrugged.

After a few moments, Hafu reached out slowly, reverently. He tapped the haft of the hammer with a finger. The runes on its surface flashed, and then the hammer flickered into a series of shapes: a bent, rotating tool, some form of chisel or wedge, a pickaxe, and other stranger forms. It happened all in an instant, and Hafu shrank back. Artakha’s tool reverted to a hammer, as before.

“What should we do?” Kapura asked. “We should return it, shouldn't we?”

Hafu hesitated. “I’m not…sure…” He reached out again and gripped the handle of the hammer firmly. It came away in his hand, and he almost toppled over with surprise, thinking that he had broken it. But then he realized that the entire tool had simply shrunk and become lighter to match his size.

“Incredible,” Hafu whispered, hefting the tool and feeling its balance. He looked at Kapura and smiled. “I could get used to this.”

Hafu’s head snapped back, and his entire body seized as a strong electric shock emitted from the hammer. His mask jarred loose, and he fell heavily to the ground.

The hammer clattered from his grasp and rolled away, flickering and buzzing until it struck a stone and stopped. Smoke rose from Hafu's body. He did not move.

A long quiet moment passed. Then, a shadow fell over the hammer, and another hand reached out and gripped the handle in a very precise way, raised it.

Two eyes looked at the tool thoughtfully out of a red Pakari. The tool had clearly been warded, except for those with...certain knowledge.

“I don’t know why the Great Being chose to sacrifice me along with the others, back in the tower,” he mused. “I have served him well, and it saddens me. Maybe he didn’t know I was there...but he knows everything...”

The red Pakari turned to look at the unmoving body of Hafu. There were burn-marks on his armor, but his heartlight was beating faintly.

“You were not supposed to survive either, just like me. That is clearly the Great Being’s will, though Artakha interfered...And so...”

The hammer went up, and shifted into a blunt form. It hung in the air for a moment.

The eyes behind the red Pakari glanced down, then sidelong, then up. They narrowed. Thoughtful.

Out in the distance, across the wind-carved plain, what before had seemed to be a sparkling mirage had faded as the sun fell behind clouds. Now it was clearer: Far away, the shape of a mighty fortress rose against the sky, flanked by strange spikes of stone. And beyond that, there was gleaming ocean.

“And so...”

One moment, there were two Matoran amidst the ruins: one standing, arm raised, one sprawled on the ground.

The next moment, there was only one.

* * *

Context: Like its predecessor, this story fragment is set within the unknown landscape of possible futures which branch from the end of the unfinished Bionicle serials; specifically, the serial The Powers That Be, which trails off at a moment when a group of characters (including Hafu and Kapura) are being targeted by a mysterious murderer (the Great Being Velika), to be either killed or recruited to his cause.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works #kapura #hafu

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reidslovely · 8 months

Note

I wanna know how does frat!Peter comfort bashful when she's feeling insecure like when girls are all over him (pretty sure boys are all over her too but they don't wanna test Peter) what would Peter do in that situation?

i think this changes a lot throughout their relationship and how it progresses.

at first when they're not super exclusive (what peter referred to as their feeling each other out phase) she pretends not to care but Peter has like a fucking radar that goes off. like she has no claims over him, and he has none over her so why should she care that there is a very gorgeous, tall, platinum blonde women throwing herself at peter?? but she does. god does she care. so peter keeps his distance but does participate in the fun flirting, because he'd expect bashful to do the same. but he doesn't stay long at all. he's coming back two drinks in hand, arm wrapping around her pulling her close hand petting her hair down. quick with the praise.

"you're so pretty bashful. have ii told ya that since you got here? mhmm."

"shut up." she mumbles, muffling herself with her drink.

"oh no, no no. don't go shy on me, pretty girl."

the quick jab to his side shuts him up, but he smirks knowing he's built her back up a little bit.

however when it comes to them being more official around their sophomore year, bashful doesn't get as jealous but it does definitely make her insecure. obviously this is before the pregnancy. but no matter how quick peter is to shut it down, bashful does still have this eating feeling that maybe there's something better out there for him. peter is again quick to the praise, but he has show off rights now that come with the girlfriend-boyfriend title. so not only is he quick to call her beautiful, or smart. he's also at the jump to talk about how proud he is of her and how happy he is to be her boyfriend.

"can't believe you picked to be with me bashful. i'm really, really, flattered. think about how fuckin' lucky i got to be with you. it's crazy."

"you're drunk pete.." she laughs trying to shrug him off his bear hug as they walk to join harry outside on the back patio.

"'m not...here smell." he laughed craning his head forward breathing in her face. no alcohol on his breath. "minty fresh."

"you're fucking gross." bashful laughed moving her head away.

he doesn't like to outright call her out when feeling she's feeling insecure because he knows how hard that can be. peter himself does get super insecure when boys approach her so he does what he can to assure. he'll even tell the girls approaching him about her. just to let them know right up that he's a taken man and not interested.

bonus:

when bashful gets approached at the start of the relationship pete is quick on his feet, again, dude has a radar. he's by her side as fast as possible, arm around her smiling at the guy. but that's just because he's more outward in his approach than she is.

"been looking for ya bashful, whose your friend?"

the guy looks from her to pete, before he's backing away. peter has a reputation in the frat, he's not the fighter that's totally nate, but peter is intimidating alone with a look. he's only been in one fight since joining the frat, and it hasn't been lived down since. now you put hitting on his girlfriend into that mix??

"yeah no thanks.. this has been fun though." the guy laughs walking away.

'you're such a jealous ass.." bashful laughs shaking her head, looking up at him smiling.

"mhm.."

peter shrugged pressing his lips to her head.

frat Peter gif for the submission

#bambi talks #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter imagine #frat!peter #tasm andrew garfield

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freya-captain · 1 year

Text

Jacaerys Velaryon was engaged to Aegon Targaryen ii but had an illicit affair with Sara Snow when he visited the North

(Jacegon drabble where alpha!Jace not being an honorable Prince and a perfect lover (as he always is in fics))

Aegon and Jace had crush on each other from childhood. After Rhaenyra ascending to the throne and their marriage was consummated, they lived as if they were the happiest couple in town. Aegon was madly in love with Jace and very soon he gave him a beautiful silver-haired princess, Aemma. However, she neither looked like Jace nor she could very likely become their heir in future days. But Jace promise he’d love his first daughter no matter what.

And then Lucemond got married in the Sept (finally) and they started to breed like rabbits. Five years went passing and funny enough all their babies had brown hair and looked like Lucerys. Aemond was happy inside even though Aegon mocked at him saying ‘Karma for you despising and calling them Strong all those years’.

And Aemond mocked at Aegon back for not capable of bearing another child anymore due to his old drinking problem and libertine lifestyle. Aegon pretended he didn’t care but he did try so hard to change—he’s been quitting drinking a long time, going to church regularly and trying different herbal remedies which tasted like shit. He had been a brand new person. But the situation wasn’t getting any better. He couldn’t get pregnant and every time it finally happened, he just lost the baby in early months. Jace was always thoughtful and supportive as any perfect husband, telling him he couldn’t care less but Aegon started to think Aemma was merely a miracle and he was either barren or cursed.

And next time when Jacaerys returned from the North’s visit, he brought his bastard son Cregan Snow who was older than Aemma back to the capital.

Aegon was so mean to imply Luke’s kids may be bastards since Aemond used to treat him like shit but now he became the one who had to live under the same roof with an actual bastard boy, a living proof of his husband’s disloyalty. Aegon stopped laughing at anyone anymore.

Jace apologetically explained he didn’t want to leave little Cregan in Winterfall. His true firstborn deserved better education, training and comfy growing environment.

Aegon couldn’t complain cause he was not in the least a maiden when he married Jace and Jace also had this affair before he said those vows.

He figured it was Rhaenyra and Daemon’s idea all along. They thought he couldn’t have children anymore and they decided to develop the bastard boy.

He hated that the boy got Jace’s everything: his dark eyes, his curly hair, his cheekbones, and he got all northerner’s good attributes in him, determination and resolve. As a bastard, he got his prudence but also he possessed the kind of charm that makes people want to follow and die for him, just like a qualified heir to a future king.

Aegon fucking hated him and the north. He fucking hated himself as well. He hated Jacaerys when he found out it was him, not Rhaenyra and Daemon, that kept drugging him so he couldn’t have another baby of his own. That’s when he finally understood what it meant when Otto was executed and said “I died laughing because one day my bloodline would sit on the iron throne and his children and grandchildren would always have my blood” and Jace smiled cruelly saying “it wouldn’t ever happen, unfortunately”. He hated his beloved made him an idiotic fool all these years. He hated it was too late when he finally saw everything through.

Now all he wanted is to take Aemma far away in case they decide to marry her to the only living son of his husband to strengthen his claim or some noble lord in a castle. He never truly believed in Gods but now he started to pray, every single day.

#i feel like I should add warnings #jacaerys velaryon #is dark and calculated #aegon ii targaryen #jacegon #house of the dragon #not happy ending #And you know damn well For you I would ruin myself #A million little times #jacaerys x aegon #aemond x lucerys #lucemond #fanfic prompt

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konigbabe · 1 year

Text

little storm (part i; snow patrol)

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x fem!OC

Word count: 3.9k

Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort; canon-typical violence; medical inaccuracies; military inaccuracies; violence; injuries; explicit language; keegan calls you 'kid'; eventual smut [in later parts]

Summary: Keegan thought saving her and getting both of them out of the enemy lines was nothing but an easy job; that was before her true character shows up—and before the plan goes crumbling down.

masterlist • faq • AO3

A/N: Even with the fem!character being OC, this could maybe be considered a reader fic as well as I won't be specifying anything about the OC [kali]; her characterization will stay very vague.

little storm: part ii • part iii [final]

The metallic taste lingers on her tongue as if a bad wine had been poured down her throat and left to fester. The sour, vinegar-like flavor is almost unbearable, yet it clings to her tastebuds, refusing to be forgotten.

The voices keep screaming: Everyone out! Find a parachute and jump! Stop wasting time! The same words repeat themselves, an incessant chant that grows in intensity with each throbbing beat of her headache. Get out, they urge her.

RPG!

Incoming!

Hand around her bicep, pushing her aside. Back colliding hard against the unforgiving metal side of the chopper, heavy thud, air leaving her lungs upon the impact. Then there’s the heat preceded by the bright light. People, men, soldiers grasping the ropes, her fingers tightly squeezing the bench.

The world keeps tilting and spinning. A simple slip of a hand and she starts sliding. Callsigns are soon replaced by names; too personal, only meaning one thing—deathbed. her name resonates nearby. Someone slips past her; a young soldier she’s met a few hours ago, wide eyes briefly meeting hers, arms reaching anywhere to hold before he falls.

Beeping reverberates through the metal, menacing red light flashing in regular intervals. Rough fingers enclose her wrist, tugging upwards with startling force. The material of the gloves is rough and unforgiving, scratching her delicate skin as someone keeps their firm grip on her.

Everything feels slow as the hand around her wrist lets go soon afterward, accompanied by a gruff voice commanding her to move. To take the jump.

Freefalling, her eyes fixate on the burning ball of fire above her, a gentle breeze kissing the exposed flesh of hers. The force of gravity pulls her downward, stealing the air from her lungs.

One last breath.

It all becomes blurry.

Numbness follows the utter chaos.

The chill of the night air wraps around her body like an icy embrace, the sky slowly darkening under the canopy of trees above. Before she can drift back into a peaceful slumber, a voice calls to her, and the calmness is quickly replaced by a dull ache that grows until it feels like a thousand needles pricking her chest, her back. Everywhere. A firm hand presses against her collarbones, intensifying the pain that radiates throughout her entire being.

A low, raspy croak leaves her lips as her eyes peel open to the world of confusion and ambiguity that surrounds her. A dark figure looms above her, crouching down just barely enough for her trembling hand to shoot out in a desperate attempt to grab it; but before her fingers can touch the silhouette, a cold grasp wraps around her wrist, halting her motion in its tracks.

It takes a moment for her eyes to focus on the person before her, and then the reality of the situation sets in. The rough fabric of his glove glides over her cheek. The sudden glare of the light is almost too much to bear, and then with a gentle smack, his palm connects with her cheek, awakening her sense.

A ringing echoes in her ears as she hears the murmurs of the people around her.

“What the fuck,” she utters, quiet and confused.

Eyes focused on the man before her, recognition hits her the moment his face turns back to her. The sergeant from the chopper. The one that wasn’t supposed to be there. Keegan, they called him. The Ghost, some mentioned.

“Can you walk, kid?”

His eyes, topaz blue and so clear that it seems like the ocean's depths are reflecting back at her, a hue that seems to have been plucked right from the clearest of summer skies; it takes her by surprise how close he actually is now that she’s fully conscious.

Clenching her hands tightly, she wiggles her toes. Feeling the tightness in her muscles, she pulls her knees up. With a deep breath, she sits up, and with a determined voice, she answers with a firm, "I think so."

Keegan's eyes survey her intently; quick examination, seems to pass as he stands up with his arm extended toward her.

Taking it, he supports her weight momentarily. The voices grow louder, torch lights shedding light all around. Foreign, that much can she deciphers; Spanish, she figures soon enough, listening to the shouting.

Look for potential survivors! Hostiles in the area! Bring them to the compound! They all blend together into one big mush but that one word sticks out—hostil; hostile. Enemy forces.

“We need to go,” Keegan's gruff voice interrupts the incoming voices. Securing the sniper file on his shoulder, he stands tall next to her. His shoulder slightly pushes against hers, sending her forward. Pain shoots up her whole body as if she’s just been punched in the stomach by a battering ram. Hand laying flat against the flimsy material of her torn jacket, the dull ache intensifies with the pressure.

The night air feels still and oppressive as if it is waiting for the next move.

One last glance at the unsuspecting soldiers and she follows in Keegan’s footsteps, unsure what to do next.

The frigid air bites at her uncovered digits, each icy bite sending a jolt of pain through her sensitive skin as she vigorously rubs them together in a feeble effort to warm up. The snow melts in her shoes, boots clearly not designed for cold weather. It reaches her knees almost. Hopping in Keegan’s footsteps, who is seemingly unfazed by the bitter cold, she feels like a rabbit scurrying to keep up.

“We need to find some shelter,” the sergeant speaks, back toward her. The broad expanse of his shoulders shields her from the front, providing relief from the frosty breeze coming his way.

Looking at her almost frost-bitten fingers, she tucks them back underneath the jacket as she mumbles, “No shit.”

Keegan’s head turns to the side, the darkness of his mask almost imperceptible against the snowflakes that seemed to dance in harmony with the skull pattern, the beanie protecting the rest of his head as only the black-painted eyes shine through, piercing through the night.

“What was that?”

“Yes, sir,” her voice grows more determined and resolute despite its quavering tremor; lips too numb from the cold, making it hard to form words.

“Keegan,” she thinks it’s only in her head as huh leaves her mouth in a cloud of vapor.

“Call me Keegan, forget the formalities,” he repeats.

Leaning against the tall, sturdy cedar tree, her skin is met with a harsh, rough texture. Pain spreads through her body like liquid, back burning as she lets the cool air soothe the lasting ache.

It takes her a few quick strides to catch up with Keegan, the sound of the snow crunching beneath her feet as she goes. Even though the coldness of the air prickles against her skin, Keegan strides forward with a confident gait, seemingly unaffected by the wintry chill.

“Where are we going anyway?” her curiousness seeps through her.

The soldier doesn’t respond; long strides distancing himself from her form before stopping by snow-covered bushes. A hiss escapes her lips as she steps on a jagged rock hidden beneath the icy layer of the ground, the pain jolting through her body and awakening the frozen cells of her soles.

Keegan's head snaps around, his gaze fixed in her direction, and even though his expression is indiscernible underneath the mask, she can feel the intensity of his eyes as they look through her.

“You sure you’re alright, kid?” his voice remains stern despite the almost touching question.

“Yeah,” is all she can muster; trying to push aside the throbbing pain in her leg. A few steps forward and she stands just a foot from him, eyes drawn to the sniper rifle slung across his shoulder.

“Good,” he nods, reaching for the thigh holster, “then have this.”

With that, a handgun appears in his gloved hand. Its black, sleek design both beautiful and ominous; the irony of such a breathtaking thing being able to take a life with a simple flick of a finger.

His arm remains extended, his eyes boring into hers; the dark, charcoal paint smeared by the melted snow.

“I don’t do shooting,” she declines his offer, hands by her sides.

He stays stoic for a moment as if processing her words, “her’re military.”

Nodding, hands moving to her pant pockets, she agrees with him, “yeah—but I’m recon.”

An audible sigh leaves his lips, mask stretching to accommodate the open-mouth movement. Keegan looks at her momentarily before securing the handgun back into its place.

“Why are you giving it to me now anyway,” she asks.

“There,” he crouches down, an audible crack follows as his knee bend, and nods somewhere in front of him where she can’t see, “we need shelter, there’s a snowstorm coming.”

“Didn’t pin you as a weatherman,” she mumbles.

Following in his footsteps, she takes his side; a small cottage-like structure stands multiple feet from her hidden figures. It’s small, looks barely the size of one room, light hardly making it through the miniature windows decorating the side facing her. A man masked in white camouflage and a black vest stands outside, a cigarette between his lips, rifle by his side.

“Is that a guardhouse?”

“Safehouse,” Keegan lies down, almost hidden beneath the bushes; the black material of his uniform gets slowly covered by the incoming snow. With his rifle in hand, he aims it through the scope as he scans the surroundings.

The man, guard, stands facing her direction; if it was daytime, he’d surely see her, black amongst the white, now cloaked in darkness. Keegan shifts, bringing a small, torch-like device out, and handing it to her.

A laser.

“With all due respect,” she starts, fingers wrapped around the device already, “what do you expect me to do? Go in blind and catch a bullet?”

The man looks at her momentarily, eyes dancing across her face, boring into hers for a second before he answers, nuisance evident in his voice, “didn’t you say you’re recon?”

A simple yeah leaves her lips in a wisp of smoke.

“Then go mark my targets,” he bites back, irritation seeking into his otherwise calm, stoic tone.

It’s almost impossible for her to feel the hard material of the laser with how frozen her fingers are. Putting the device into a pocket, she wiggles her arms, blood warming up the cold limbs slowly.

“What’re you doin’?” Keegan’s voice stops her movement for a second.

Stepping to follow the tree line, she look back at him, “warmin’ up a bit, I’m freezing.”

He looks at her in disbelief, “move your ass, kid.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t dressed appropriately for chopper take down and snow patrol, sarge—my boots are wetter than the Pacific Ocean, it’s creepin’ up my legs, can’t feel my fingers but she still wants me to go into a lion’s den alone, unarmed—”

“Do you ever shut up?” Keegan stops her, adjusting his leg to lie more comfortably as he looks at her.

“In certain circumstances; yes, I do,” she reassures the masked sniper, moving further along the tree line, blending in the shadows but still within his reach.

That’s when she hears him talk again, “you weren’t that talkative out there.”

Turning toward him one last time, she responds with “I was frozen,” before making her way toward the safe house. The guard is barely visible as snow begins to fall heavier than earlier, his camo doing its job perfectly in hiding the man from her naked eyes.

Taking a deep breath, the familiar feeling of adrenaline floods her veins, fingertips tingling with excitement as she nears the building, heartbeat picking up.

A small transom window decorates the side of the house. Slight light shines through the glass; shadows move inside as she nears it, carefully avoiding the outside guard. One hand at a time, fingers hooked over the frame, a pain-filled groan seeps through her clenched teeth—the stretch of skin feeling as if she is torn apart.

She could swear she’s heard a rip when her legs tangle in the air momentarily. Letting go, she lands softly, expertly on the soft snow. A shadow is cast on the edge of the safe house, the guard coming around. Swiftly moving to the wall, hand groping her side, a wet sticky texture clings to her exposed flesh.

Fuck—

The guard’s footstep echo near her; breath hitching, her form freezes.

Thud.

The white of his mask turns burgundy red. Chestnut hair sticking to his face, glassy eyes mirroring the same color stare at her. His empty body screams death, murder—Keegan.

She moves back, careful not to step on the body that lies in the way, taking his transmitter in the process as she makes her way toward another window, this time much lower, easier to access compared to the last one.

Single room, three men; big, burly, she’d call them intimidating in the past, now they don’t scare her that much (and it’s not because she has a sniper on her six). Lightly armed, rifles recklessly laying in the far corner of the room.

Turning to face the direction of Keegan, she points the laser at the ground and presses the button three times. The transmitter in her hand crackles, a stream of Spanish echoing through. her gaze shifts to the window as she sees one of the men talking through it, calling for his comrade.

Putting the transmitter on the ground, heart pounding in anticipation as she prepares herself.

Quick run toward the door, she hides behind the near wall the very same moment the handle starts going down. He steps out, the warm air colliding with the freezing cold outside, creating a mild mist behind his back. Slow deep breaths fill her lungs, she swears that if he decided to look just a little bit more to the right, his eyes would stare straight at her silhouette.

After searching the dark, eerie environment illuminated only by the faint light emanating from the building, he reaches for the transmitter—only to stop midway as he hears a faint crackling in the snow to his left. A confused What…? gets mumbled beneath the white mask.

Laser on, she aims it at the back of his head, careful not to raise suspicion among the guards, and turn it off when he reaches the end of the wall.

The moment his broad figure reaches the end of the front of the building, his back towards Keegan, he falls. Head first, she sees his back disappearing behind the safe house. Laser in her hand, she puts it on twice again and slams the opened door shut with tremendous force, the wood around the frame quivering from the impact.

Both guards exit the building right away. Backs toward her hidden figure, the laser flickers from one to another. Keegan doesn’t waste any more time; bodies drop on sight, vivid splashes of crimson red staining their white uniforms.

His figure looming from the shadows, he comes towards her position; strides confident, rifle loosely hanging on his shoulder, the sniper’s eyes scan the environment once more while she stands by the door, between the two bodies.

“Good shots,” she says, her voice a reverent murmur of admiration as she grips the lifeless body of the smallest soldier tightly. Keegan’s hands wrap around the other guy’s arms, dragging the body behind the safe house, a sinister trail of red left behind a stark contrast to the peaceful winter landscape around her.

The bodies pile up; the smell of death is pervasive, and she can almost taste the metallic tang of the spilled blood in the winter air.

Stepping into the safehouse, its warmth immediately welcomes her in its embrace. Slight relief washes over her, finally able to feel the blood circulating in her system.

“By the way,” Keegan steps inside, layers of white camo in his hands, “you should work more on your pull-ups. That was straight-up embarrassing, kid.”

The comforting scent of cedar permeates the room, a welcome respite from the actual situation she’s found herself in—even when knowing that this safehouse isn’t that safe for her; just a fleeting safety until the snowstorm passes.

He’s been quiet ever since their last conversation;

The crackling of wood fills the room as Keegan moves around, his movements lithe and graceful with her offering a small helping hand.

“Clothes off,” he commands.

“If you want to see me naked that much, you can just say it,” chuckling, she manages to silence the moan clawing at her throat as the adrenaline wears off—a dull ache returning to haunt her bruised flesh, stinging pain on her back.

Keegan notices.

Of course he does.

She has a feeling he’s known for some time but now he looks almost fed up with her escapades. Striding towards her with determination, he stands in front of her in a flash. Hands firmly on her jacket, he meets no resistance, unzipping the jacket and gripping her shirt, pulling the material up—her struggle useless against the mass of the muscle.

“It’s not internal,” she twists away from him, but with a firm grip, he holds her still. Gloves long gone, Keegan’s fingers trace the most visible bruising, and each touch sends jolts of pain through her entire body. She can feel the heat of his hands, and the cold of her skin; it's a strange sensation, one that feels both uncomfortable and oddly comforting.

The cuts don’t escape his attention either.

“You’re not a medic,” he disregards her attempts to reason, examining the drying blood.

“Neither an idiot, Keegan,” she basically growls back at him, snatching his hand off of her, “if it was internal, I’d already be on the ground, in pain…or dead.”

He glares at her, unwavering.

The shirt still bundled around her ribcage, he speaks again, “turn around.”

And she does just that without as much as a bite back.

It’s somehow consoling, the way he takes care of her; even if they’ve known each other for less than a day.

The warmth of his fingers returns to her skin, feathery touches kissing the painful flesh, following the curve of her spine—bottom to top, top to bottom, then along the sides.

It stings, sometimes. Light jabs, like needles, sending jolts through her skin.

“I think I fell on a rock or something solid,” her eyes follow the dancing flames of the small bonfire Keegan managed to set up to warm their bodies. Turning her head to the side, she can see his eyes glazing over her exposed, naked back; focused, concentrated as she feels his fingertips glaze over each cut deliberately.

The bonfire casts flickering shadows over his masked face, marigold flames blending with the topaz color like a sunset over the horizon.

“It’s from the tree branches you fell through. Looks worse than it is,” Keegan says in a low voice, his hand slowly moving away from her back, “still needs some cleaning though.”

Walking toward an old, rusty box hidden by the wall, the man turns his head to look at her, “take the shirt off.”

“Y’know,” she starts, fidgeting with the bloodied material between her fingers, “I don’t usually take my clothes off for someone whose face I’m yet to see.”

Keegan simply stands there, expressionless; a sigh leaves her lips, silent incoherent Whatever as she gives up with his staring, simply following the order given to her by the sergeant.

His hands move with cunning adroitness, slowly cleaning the cuts and scratches. The pain slowly ebbs away, replaced by the cool feel of water poured over the irritated skin; drying the wounds with her now ruined shirt, she sits on the table, his body at a perfect height to match hers, making it easy for him to help her; the tension of her muscles subduing away with each gentle touch.

“Where are the others,” she asks into the silence of the room, the outside snowstorm creating a white noise that encases the building like a cocoon, “The rest of my team?”

“KIA.”

Seems like history’s repeating itself.

Hissing at the sharp pain in her shoulder, she attempts to wriggle away—only for her escape to be halted by his hand on her shoulder; the length of his slender fingers lingering over her exposed collarbone, barely grazing the top of her bra; yet he doesn't seem to realize the intimate position of his hand placement and she doesn't attempt to do anything about it, finding it rather strangely comforting, despite the vulnerability that comes with it.

“Do you ever take the mask off?”

“No.”

“Not even in the shower?” she persists, lips curling into a teasing smile, “are you ugly underneath that? Nah—doubt that.”

“You talk too much,” he brushes her off, hand leaving her collarbone; and suddenly, the room feels too cool, chilly as she sits on the table, shirtless, with her back toward the Ghost; vulnerable. Turning around, knees bend over the edge, legs hanging loosely, she watches Keegan throwing the used material in the bonfire—no evidence of her presence to be ever found once they’re gone.

A realization hits her as she gazes upon the man, now clothed in the garments of hostiles, as his own now lies burned in the bonfire’s pit. “Are you okay?” she asks, tone laced with slight concern over her companion.

Keegan looks at her; a second passes and she could swear he looks slightly taken aback by the sincere question but soon enough, he nods with a simple “yeah”.

Weapons spread on the table before him, the same one she occupied an hour ago, her eyes follow the movement of his fingers; slender and punctilious—an almost poetic grace, carefully and precisely placing each piece in its rightful place. Like a master of his craft, Keegan quietly prepares the weaponry; the bonfire between them casting a nearly enigmatic aura onto his figure.

The soldier's cargo pants hang low on her hips, staying in place only with the help of the belt. It's a much more comfortable and warmer feeling than her old snow-soaked uniform and blood-stained uniform. The snowstorm has finally died down as well.

Tugging one gun in her thigh holster, she puts on the black thick vest, taking it off moments later.

It’s too big; made for a man.

“I don’t think that’ll help me blend in,” she mentions while going through the plan again — find a compound, get in, get a car, get out — Keegan thought of every detail as he’s told her the plan before; his sense of precision showing up as he spoke—slow and clear, ensuring both of them are on the same page.

The sergeant looks up at her drowning in the uniform, his stare lingers for a moment; then he goes back to finishing his handy work, preparing for the mission.

“Just wear it, they won’t question it.”

“I have boobs; I think they will notice I’m not a man,” she replies, a hint of defiance in her voice.

Her remarks don’t go unnoticed.

His eyes bore into hers, gaze unflattering before moving down, unbothered, right at her chest, deep in thought, “no, they won’t.”

Mouth hanging open in silent resentment, the Ghost goes to secure a thigh holster on himself firmly, putting a loaded handgun in.

“If you get shot I’m not saving you.”

[part ii]

#keegan russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #codghosts #moni writes #konigbabe #cod #call of duty ghosts #keegan x kali #kali

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